Not Much Fun: Poems

The Impossibility of Sex

I want you to pass me a cup.
The world is already used up.
I really like how you’re dressed.
I think I might be depressed.
I need you to hand me the vape —
I wouldn’t consider it rape.
It’s not that I scorn you as such —
It’s just that the sex is too much.

Ghost

That explosive energy —
Do you feel it too?
It’s an aimless rage or love
But it isn’t you.
If I fall in love again,
Like I did today,
Then my disappearing act:
Would it be okay?

After the End of Poetry

There’s no idea that comes to mind —
But Publisher says I’m behind!
It’s only form I might abide,
And content is brusque, set aside.
When news is live and art is dead
And Loverboy says “stay in bed,”
You need to hush to keep ahead:
It’s only some words that are bled.